


The One Who Stood Alone

by melpomeni_mandy



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Feelings, Patch 4.5: A Requiem For Heroes Spoilers, a long time coming...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 06:49:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18026819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melpomeni_mandy/pseuds/melpomeni_mandy
Summary: After the initial push against Garlean forces within the Ghimlyt Dark, the Warrior of Light feels the impact of finally--truly--being the last one standing. Or is she...?(Part of the ongoing series of 'Long May She Endure', post 4.5 pt. 1, spoilers!)





	The One Who Stood Alone

The tent was quiet and solitary as one could be, given its proximity to the front. A moment’s rest, a chance for respite after the rush between foul trenches, pools of sickening ceruleum, and the fighting.

There was a grand company cot—Gridanian in style and make—taking up one side yet she did not sit upon it. Instead she wedged herself between the canvas and the cot, the inescapable need to simply sit and feel the earth beneath her overwhelming. It was firm, solid; not even a malm away from where she had mercilessly cut down Garleans and their armaments yet the ground did not tremble so much here.

It was what she needed, this place to center herself as much as she was able before moving once more. To be back on her feet, trudging forward, onward to wherever and whoever needed her. Yet this small corner did little to ease the ache in her stomach and the tightness in her chest.

Ahlis closed her eyes, swallowing back down her urge to let out the gasp and sob she knew rested just in the back of her throat.

“ _No! Not now…not like…”_

Ahlis winced, the memory returning unbidden. It was all still so clear in her mind. She had done nothing, yet nothing could be done. Nothing could stop the loss she witnessed as her body was wracked with the same agony that stole her companion away. Her hand clenched against her aching belly.

It was the same, every single time. The same threat, the same lurch striking her entire being, and the  _pain_. And one after another they fell…until only she remained now. Only her. Her vision clouded as she opened her eyes, the familiar sting of tears overcoming her.

_I will not! I will not cry…I won’t…_

Ahlis coughed and breathed deep through her nose as she clenched her jaw, yet that did not stop it. Her tears turned to anger, and her anger turned to shame, until ultimately she couldn’t fight the torrent she knew had been building since she fled the field. Before long her face was a cascade of tears, her lip bitten and swollen in her attempt to keep her cries unheard.

“Warrior of Light,” a man’s voice from beyond the threshold of the tent called out. “The Lord Commander is here to see you.”

Ahlis remained paralyzed for a second more before she scrambled to her feet. This was unexpected— _how?_ –but she had little means to question it. Hands worked quickly to wipe away at her cheeks and eyes, an attempted to rebuild some semblance of composure. With another breath—inhale and exhale—she turned towards the entrance to her tent.

“Come in.”

A familiar gloved hand parted the canvas as he crossed the threshold, the flap falling back and away as Aymeric now stood before her. There was little space between them, given the tent’s humble size.

“I see you found me,” Ahlis spoke, a single chuckle twisting her mouth into a brief smile before fading.

Their eyes met and it took everything Aymeric had not to immediately reach for her and touch her hair, her face. Her effort to try and hide the evidence of her tears struck him as painfully typical, but with one look from his soft, imploring gaze made it immediately clear that he saw the pain within herself, even if he hadn’t heard or seen her cries.

“I anticipated your return from the front lines,” Aymeric said, voice quiet as he watched her turn her face away, now half-turned and face masked by the fall of her hair. The thought that it was a mistake seeing her so soon after battle tried to worm its way into his heart.

“Shouldn’t you be with your men?”

There was a pause; Ahlis could feel a twist in her chest that she shouldn’t be there, saying such things and trying to provoke something out of the man. Even now, despite everything that had happened now and before.

 _He came for you, just as you came from the trenches to find him_ , her thoughts struck her with a realization almost too late. There was no need to play coy, not now. Not with so little time left.

“I needed to see with mine own eyes that you were safe.” Aymeric took a step, then two, towards her. It was becoming familiar now, this pull and push between them. It was like a game—he disliked the connotations of it. Yet for every step Ahlis coaxed out from his she gave a step in return. Forward, or backwards, he could never predict. “Look at me. Please.”

She didn’t move, not at first. Then her shoulders fell and relaxed, as if she had been held stiff from holding herself too taunt like a string, followed by the gentle turn of her face, Her eyes downcast that slowly rose to meet his own. Aymeric saw then, just as he realized her grief upon first sight of her, the struggle it was for Ahlis to keep her gaze upon him.

She looked ready to burst, to lash out or to cry; it was a sight he recognized intimately, terribly. He would not be the same fool again. That alone was enough to spurn him to act, arms reaching for her to hold Ahlis are closely as he dared.

Her body froze in his embrace. His heart beat like thunder in his chest. Somewhere in the beyond the clamor of the battlefield, faint yet so close, continued on. The silence within the tent was broken, cloth shifting against armor, and the soft murmuring of her voice against his chest.

His name came to her lips first, then the apologies followed.  _I’m sorry, so sorry_. Ahlis stuttered, failing to keep her voice from hiccuping in her throat.

He felt her hands grasping him now, fingers curling, and he bent forward to kiss her hair, faint and gentle each time as he approached closer to her face, a trail from crown to cheek. Aymeric needed no apologies yet he let her speak them as they began to sway softly in the growing dark.

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to dedicate this segment to my friend and proofreading volunteer Emily/aethernoise@tumblr/emmerwrites. Her feedback and support have been integral for me in completing my works.


End file.
